


sip on your lips

by orphan_account



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, M/M, Shower Sex, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 01:42:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7870615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soonyoung finds it a little too hard to say no to the hot single dad across the hall.</p><p>(Or, a romcom with a not-so-romcom ending.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	sip on your lips

**Author's Note:**

> ay lol guess who's back
> 
> I wrote this for fun haha it's very self-indulgent /hides
> 
> thank you so much to Reena and Runa for plotting this with me. I think it turned out a lot differently from what we planned but oh well
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy!!

There’s nothing like the hot single dad across the hall knocking on your door with hot cinnamon buns in the morning. The tops of them—glazed to an opaque, high white shine—are almost an innuendo in its dripping glory ( _let me see_ your _buns_ , Soonyoung wants to say), and it takes all of Soonyoung’s energy to not tell Seungcheol that it’s the best booty call he’s ever had.

Instead, he teases Seungcheol, “None of your cheffy, fancy-pants mac ‘n’ cheese?” He remembers Seungcheol stumbling in drunk at two in the morning, carrying a bowl of mac ‘n’ cheese topped with lots of freshly cracked black pepper, and shoving the bowl in Soonyoung’s face, then picking up some of it with a fork and trying to feed Soonyoung with it after Soonyoung just looks at it dumbly. Seungcheol misses by a bit, making Soonyoung have to guide Seungcheol’s clumsy hand to his mouth. The pasta was a revelation, pungent and salty with the sharpness of the black pepper rounding it out and taking Soonyoung to town. His mouth waters thinking about it (and of a drunk Seungcheol, barefoot and shirtless and in joggers).

With a sheepish smile, Seungcheol says, “I wanted to give you something breakfast-appropriate. May I come in?”

“They can”—Soonyoung points at the casserole in Seungcheol’s hand—“but you can’t.”

“Why not me?”

“You’re more of a dinner guy, not breakfast,” Soonyoung says to soothe Seungcheol’s pout then steps back to let him in, taking the warm casserole out of his hands. 

Seungcheol follows him to the kitchen and seats himself on a stool at the kitchen counter, resting his chin on his laced-together fingers as he watches Soonyoung set the casserole down on the counter and take out a piece to put on a plate. Soonyoung licks his fingers of frosting and pours coffee into a large mug before tearing apart the bun, a smile slowly making its way through his face as the fragrance of cinnamon hits him, steam rising up in soft curls.

The first piece melts into his mouth, making Soonyoung let out a tiny moan and Seungcheol grin widely.

“Okay, what favour is it this time?” Soonyoung prompts. “Mail? Laundry?”

“So the restaurant is booked tonight for a special event…” Seungcheol begins. From there, Soonyoung’s mind wanders—he’s invited as Seungcheol’s special guest, a taste-tester, a fill-in waiter. He’s always wanted to see Seungcheol spruced up in his chef’s jacket, plating up something sexy for the moneyed masses, maybe tossing a few things in the sauté pan with a flick of his wrist. The sleeves are gonna be rolled up, because he _knows_ about those damn arms and they’re a necessity.

“I’d love to,” Soonyoung sighs, and Seungcheol laughs at that.

“You’d really love to watch over my kids on a Friday night?”

“Wait—What?” The tips of Soonyoung’s ears go red, really red. “I mean—Yeah, I would, but your kids aren’t kids,” he ends up arguing. “Your eldest one? He came home the same time I did last night. With a hickey.” A little belatedly, he remembers the kid begging him not to tell his father, but whatever; he can’t let Seungcheol know he was fantasising about getting fucked on the prep table of his restaurant after Seungcheol does a Hulk move by clearing the entire surface of mirepoix. Seungcheol frowns at the information, and Soonyoung shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee.

“It’ll be better if you’re there, then,” Seungcheol says slowly, “so they don’t misbehave.”

Soonyoung grins, though he feels like he owes the poor kid something, so he tells Seungcheol, “I don’t think watching over them is necessary…” But at Seungcheol’s _really fucking endearing_ puppy face, he concedes, “Fine. Just bring me home food.”

“I’ll take you out to dinner,” Seungcheol says right away. He’s practically gotten up from his seat, then settles back down and coughs with a sheepish smile. “I mean, I’ll cook you a proper dinner? I will definitely do that.”

Yes. Fucking _yes_. “Should I bring something? Like dessert or wine? Or… something,” Soonyoung offers, but Seungcheol shakes his head.

“Just bring yourself.” Seungcheol smiles even wider. “Is next Friday good?”

“I’ll… need to check if I have plans that day…” Though Soonyoung’s already planning how to cop out of parents’ night at the school—it’s a family emergency; his mom… contracted malaria in Russia and he needs to fly there as soon as possible. His father’s car set on fire with him in it, but he’s fine! Doesn’t even need a skin graft. It’ll just be good to see him again—

“The kids are gonna be home around six,” Seungcheol says, taking Soonyoung out of his thoughts, “so just come around eight? You can help yourself to the place.”

Even his bedroom? Soonyoung smiles widely. “You can trust me,” he reassures him. He can handle three kids, especially if one of them sneaks off some time in the night and the other is too lazy to leave his bedroom (he’s somehow forgotten what thirteen year olds do in their spare time… was it trying to chance on some titties?). 

“Thanks,” Seungcheol breathes. He gets off his seat and steps nearer Soonyoung, leading Soonyoung on to think that for one split second the hot single dad next door is gonna kiss his cheek—but it’s just the morning delusion; he hasn’t finished his cup of coffee yet. Just before Seungcheol opens the door, his hand poised on the handle, he stops to ask, “Was Kwannie with that tall fucker again?” with a growl, a totally sexy, protective dad growl. 

Soonyoung laughs and escorts him out with a pat on his back. “Don’t worry about him; he’s a heartbreaker.”

“Who? My son?”

“Totally.” That seems to put Seungcheol at ease, making him give Soonyoung one last reminder about the house (the immersion blender needs to be replaced, whatever the fuck that is, so don’t use it) before walking back to his own apartment.

At half past seven, Soonyoung knocks on the door and finds himself pulled in and dragged to Seungkwan’s room, his ass plopped down on the bed while Seungkwan clicks his tongue at his own reflection on the mirror.

“Thank god you’re here,” Seungkwan complains. “I need an outfit for my date tonight.”

Soonyoung lazes around and watches Seungkwan take off and put on shirt after shirt, his hair getting messed up and standing in awkward places. “The band one was kinda cute—”

“He hates Radiohead,” Seungkwan deadpans.

“Does your dad even know you’re going out?” Soonyoung demands, and Seungkwan snorts at that.

“He hates Mingyu, so the less he knows the better.”

“Has he met Mingyu?”

“No…”

Soonyoung reaches for Seungkwan’s phone on the bedside table and hands it over to Seungkwan, who looks at it with a scowl. “Tell him. Right now, or I’m not letting you out.”

“You’re not really babysitting,” Seungkwan argues. “Dad just wanted—”

“To keep an eye on you?” Soonyoung snorts. “Sorry, Kwannie, but I slipped up about last night.” Seungkwan goes entirely red then moves closer to Soonyoung so he could kick him in the shin.

“Why the _fuck_ did you—”

“Do you really want your dad declaring war on Mingyu Kim?” retorts Soonyoung. “Just call him and tell him you and Mingyu are going out tonight. Then call Mingyu and tell him to pick you up here.” At the look Seungkwan gives him, he lets out a sigh and adds, “Love yourself, Kwannie. You shouldn’t be dating a boy you’re too ashamed of to show to your dad.”

“I’m _not_ ashamed—” Seungkwan digs into his closet for a dusty pink sweater and shows it off to Soonyoung. “Fine, I’ll call him. This one okay?” Soonyoung nods. Seungkwan puts it on then sits on the bed beside Soonyoung and calls Seungcheol, his voice dripping with honey when Seungcheol picks up: “Daddy?”

Soonyoung snorts quietly, making a face at how much of a baby Seungkwan sounds.

“Daddy, I’m going out with Mingyu tonight… We’re going to that pizza pla—We’re _not_ fucking! We haven’t even gone to th— _Ugh_.” Seungkwan’s lips curl up in distaste and he slaps the phone hard on Soonyoung’s thigh. “ _You_ talk to Daddy,” he whines.

Rolling his eyes, Soonyoung picks up the phone. “ _Hi, Daddy_ ,” Soonyoung teases, laughing when he hears Seungcheol huff on the other end.

“ _Don’t let him go out_ ,” Seungcheol growls before putting the phone away from his mouth to tell one of his sous chefs to get the chicken livers that have been soaking in milk out of their tub.

“I trust him,” Soonyoung says lightly. “Don’t you?” Not really, no, is the most likely answer. If Seungcheol could keep his children interested in Scrabble all their lives, he would.

“ _Have you_ seen _that guy?_ ”

“Okay, okay, how about I judge him for you? Do you trust me?” Soonyoung asks. Seungcheol goes quiet on the other line, the only sound that could be heard a waiter calling out orders to an otherwise quiet kitchen. “If I like him, you gotta do, too, okay?”

“ _I… Okay, yeah, I’ll let Kwannie go out with him_ ,” Seungcheol concedes. “ _So… Will I see you when I get home?_ ” The fuck?

“Do you want me to?” Soonyoung baits. Seungkwan nudges him with his elbow, smiling widely and hugging him when Soonyoung gives him a thumbs up. “I could totally stay over.”

“ _Yeah, that… That’d be great. I’ll make you breakfast_.”

“Deal,” Soonyoung says happily, then hangs up the phone. Seungkwan leans in closer to him to poke his cheek.

“‘ _I could totally stay over_ ’,” he mocks. “Why didn’t you just tell him you want to stay over for the rest of your life? Fuck, your smile is disgusting.”

“Free food” is all Soonyoung tells him with a smile as he watches Seungkwan type a text to Mingyu. “Where are Hansol and Channie?”

“Chan’s”—Seungkwan makes vague waving gestures—“probably trying to burn his house in _The Sims_. Hansol’s… sleeping, I guess?”

Soonyoung gets up from the bed with a pat on Seungkwan’s thigh. “I’m gonna check on them,” he says. “Call me when Mingyu gets here; I promised your dad I’ll make sure he’s decent.”

Seungkwan rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. “You’re taking this thing way too seriously,” he grouses as he stands up and follows Soonyoung to the door, “but whatever, I’m gonna go wait in the living room.”

Chan’s definitely stuck to his desktop, headphones firmly in place as he clicks his way to an alien woohoo-ing a teenage sim. Hansol’s flipping through a comic book, fingers splayed out under the spine as he peruses it, taking care not to tear the pages. Soonyoung closes the door not five minutes after he knocks on it then joins Seungkwan in the living room, plopping down just in time for some Spongebob reruns.

“Dad made some food for you,” Seungkwan says after an episode finishes. “It’s in the fridge, and there’s instructions for heating it up. He left wine for you, too.”

“Your dad is seducing me with food,” Soonyoung grumbles, but it’s not like he’s complaining. Seungkwan scoffs, sticks his tongue out at him. “What?”

“You really don’t get it?”

“Get what?”

The doorbell rings, and Seungkwan bolts for the door, wrapping his arms around Mingyu Kim’s neck as soon as the door is opened, his feet rising off the floor as Mingyu fixes their position and practically walks into the room with Seungkwan clinging to him like a koala. Mingyu smiles sheepishly at Soonyoung—who stands up as well and feels a pout coming on his face when he realises he has to look up—extends his hand. “Uhm, hi? I’m Seungkwan’s boyfriend,” he says.

“I’m Seungkwan’s… friend,” Soonyoung says in return as he shakes his hand.

“ _Friend_?” Mingyu finally lets Seungkwan down so he could look properly affronted.

“Will you relax?” Seungkwan demands. “He’s interested in Dad.”

“Oh.”

“Do you pimp me out to your dad like this?” Soonyoung asks weakly before clearing his throat and considering Mingyu, the crisp edges of his shirt and slim legs in jeans that highlight them and crisp hair that makes him look dirty. “Get rid of the gel.”

“Why?”

“I don’t like it. It makes you look like a douche,” Soonyoung answers, though Mingyu probably is one and Seungcheol was right all along.

“Don’t wear it when you meet Daddy,” Seungkwan tells Mingyu as he goes on his toes to feel the strands of Mingyu’s hair. His face contorts as well when he feels the tips crunch under his fingers. “Yeah, okay, get rid of it.”

Mingyu frowns, reaches a hand up to feel his own hair. “You said you liked it.”

“It’s gross, I lied, I’m sorry. Come on, we’re going.” Seungkwan ushers Mingyu out the door before waving bye to Soonyoung, leaving him alone with Spongebob getting yelled at by Squidward and two kids who aren’t likely to leave their room before bedtime.

Soonyoung goes straight to the fridge and lets out, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding,” at the sight of a rare—no, wait, it’s not rare, it’s fucking _raw_ —steak sitting pretty on a white plate. A piece of paper hangs off the edge of the plate and reads: _I pre-salted it for you, so just cook it to how you want it done_. “I’ve never cooked a steak in my life,” he says aloud as he looks at it without trying not to laugh. There’s mashed potatoes as well, with instructions to stick it in the microwave with a bit of heavy cream, and he’s tempted to just eat that, but he thinks of Seungcheol frowning and moping about Soonyoung not eating his fucking pre-salted steak and it’s enough to get him to look for a skillet somewhere and to cook the damn thing.

He finds one eventually and drizzles oil into it, preparing the mashed potatoes while he waits for the skillet to heat up.

“Fuck,” he shrieks when he places the steak into the pan and it starts spitting high enough to leave tiny, pinprick splatters up his arm. Spongebob’s laughing because of something or the other, but Soonyoung swears that yellow fucker knows. The bottle of wine is on the kitchen counter alongside a bottle opener, which is awfully considerate considering how the rest of the dinner was fucking DIY.

He opens it gently and pours until the glass is heavy with it and nearly filled to the brim, declares it above average even though he could barely taste the large gulp he just swallowed. With tongs he pokes the steak a little before lifting the underside when he thinks it’s brown enough then waits for the other side to turn the same colour.

Fucking Seungcheol Choi. Soonyoung has half a mind to call him at work and demand he come home before Soonyoung sets his apartment on fire. Once the steak’s cooked, he puts it on the plate and hauls ass to the living room with the container of mashed potatoes, coming back for the wine so he can settle comfortably into the couch with his not bad, almost quite good, really fucking legit meal that tastes better with the wine, mostly because by the time he downs three-quarters of it, the food’s gone cold but still passed for edible for him, and he finishes it without complaint.

On another channel, there is some replay of _2012_ , and Soonyoung just laughs at the Chinese guy drowning because he knows it’s not real and he’s allowed to laugh, even if the sappy background music means he has to mourn it somewhat. Besides, John Cusack getting on the boat doesn’t detract from the fact that literally everyone else on the boat was rich.

The next movie is _Lost in Translation_ , and he falls asleep a little after the old guy and Scarlett Johansson go out for a date.

When he wakes up in a blanket and the sound of something getting chopped up at the kitchen, the smell of coffee in a pot, he feels like a virgin all over again and he wants Seungcheol Choi to take him to town and back.

 

 

 

“Hey,” Soonyoung croaks out. Seungcheol looks up from where he’s standing, apron covering his sweater, and smiles.

“Hey,” Seungcheol says back. “Thanks for finishing the wine.” Soonyoung flushes red and tries to find it on the coffee table in front of him, but everything’s been cleaned up, his shoes moved to the front with all the others.

He gets up and pads to the kitchen in socked feet until he’s all but sidling up to Seungcheol, eyeing the chopped peppers and onions in front of him. Like this, he feels like he’ll get knocked down if Seungcheol reaches for more garlic, with his fucking breadth and width and all. “What’s that?” he asked.

“Hash,” Seungcheol answers. “I have potatoes boiling there.” So that’s what the sound was. “How was your sleep?”

“G—Good.”

“I thought so.” Seungcheol laughs and shakes his head. “I was gonna carry you to my room last night”—Jesus fucking Christ?—“but you fought me off, so…” Soonyoung is so having a long-ass discussion with his unconscious self later, after he maybe calms down enough to stop thinking about Seungcheol waking him up with a morning blowjob—or even better, breakfast in bed, bacon and lots of creamy scrambled eggs. “You didn’t know?”

“I… I’m a real heavy sleeper,” Soonyoung says with a slight cough. “Thanks for the steak, by the way. I was able to cut it with my fork.”

Seungcheol leaves his side to test the potatoes, making Soonyoung jump back to avoid getting splashed on by previously boiling water as Seungcheol drains them off at the sink, tossing the potatoes in the colander with quick flicks of his wrists, his really fucking sexy wrists, the bony yet strong and thick kind like he’s jacked himself off a little too well. “It’s the pre-salting,” Seungcheol explains. “It helps break down the meat a little before cooking.”

“Ah,” Soonyoung says with a nod. “Can I have some coffee?”

“Help yourself.” While Soonyoung scours the cupboards for a mug (it says World’s Best Dad and was probably given by Seungkwan before he dared to ask for a raise in his allowance… unless Seungcheol bought it himself), Seungcheol heats up oil in a skillet and gets the onions and peppers going until they turn fragrant and the whole kitchen smells savoury. Soonyoung’s mouth waters, and after a sip of coffee, he feels a bit more like a person and maybe less like a haggard mess that Seungcheol shouldn’t see in the morning.

“Did you even get any sleep?” Soonyoung asks. “You’re still wearing clothes.”

Seungcheol laughs again and says, “How’d you know I sleep naked?”

“…Lucky guess…” More like a perverted one. “You were gonna make me sleep on your bed while you’re naked?” Soonyoung demands.

“I was gonna sleep in Kwannie’s room,” Seungcheol says. “He’s not home. Did you know that?”

“I—” Soonyoung gulps, gulps again and _hard_. “I’m sorry, no.” He steals a glance at the watch on Seungcheol’s wrist. Eight in the morning.

“Tired?” Seungcheol is surprisingly gentle and calm for a father of a gay kid dating a guy he totally doesn’t approve of and who probably spent the night over at said boyfriend’s place. “Should I call him?” he asks as he chews on his bottom lip.

“I doubt he’s running away,” Soonyoung says offhandedly. “Like, give up your home-cooked meals? No fucking way.” Seungcheol snorts at that.

“It’s just…” Once Seungcheol’s satisfied with the onions and peppers, he puts them into a bowl then goes to the fridge for a slab of bacon, using kitchen shears to cut it into pieces that sizzle right away in the ripping hot skillet. “I used to date guys like Mingyu—when I was Kwannie’s age, I mean.”

“Is that why you’re straight now?” Soonyoung teases. The smell of bacon frying is too good, almost distracting him from the way Seungcheol’s mouth curls then parts with a sigh. Soonyoung wraps an arm around him and pats him on the chest, mentally patting himself on the back for it. “I’m kidding.”

“Hi, kidding, I’m dad.”

“Maybe Seungkwan ran away because your jokes are fucking awful.”

“Don’t joke about my kid like that,” Seungcheol admonishes, his tone going cold right away. It makes Soonyoung take his arm away from Seungcheol’s body and clip it close to his body. Seungcheol clicks his tongue and sighs. “I should call him.”

“I’ll—You don’t have to,” Soonyoung says, then stumbles into a stammer at the sight of Seungcheol raising his brow at him. “Kwannie’s a smart kid, yeah? He’ll come home.” But he doesn’t admit his palms feel a little clammy.

At least it makes Seungcheol smile. “Yeah, he is,” he says quietly, then checks the bacon, picking out the pieces with a slotted spoon and putting them in the same bowl as the onion and peppers. In the pool of bacon grease, with the pan still hot, he drops in the potatoes and shakes the pan with clipped jerks of his wrist so that all the potatoes are in one layer.

Fuck, Soonyoung thinks it’s a little too much care for breakfast, with the way each component is cooked separately before everything is put together, but he’s damned if he says he’s not drooling at that moment.

“How do you like your eggs?” Seungcheol asks.

“Uh… Runny,” Soonyoung answers, “but the whites are kinda crispy at the edges, you know?”

“My kinda guy.”

Soonyoung Kwon is fucked, so utterly fucking fucked when Seungcheol puts the onions, peppers, and bacon back in with the now-crisp potatoes and tosses them together with salt and pepper, transferring the hash to a large plate that he asks Soonyoung to get for him then frying two eggs in the same skillet to the letter of Soonyoung’s preference, when he cuts the yolk with the side of his fork and lets the runny yolk drape itself all over the fried potatoes. Fucked in the ‘I’m coming in my pants’ sense, which intensifies when he gets a forkful of everything and shoves it in his mouth.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Soonyoung groans through a mouthful of food, the heat of it burning his tongue and the roof of his mouth, but it’s all so fucking good. It’s rich, everything melding together perfectly, but not enough to make tasting each individual ingredient a challenge. The onions were sweet, the peppers smoky, the potatoes crisp outside and fluffy inside. The yolk made it sexy, tied it together like some kind of dominatrix.

Seungcheol leans forward on the counter after rolling the sleeves of his sweater and digs in himself. His mouthful is more graceful than Soonyoung’s own shovelling—he spears everything instead of trying to chase the ingredients with the tines of his fork then runs it through the pool of yolk. “Good?” he asks with a grin.

There’s a bit of yolk on Seungcheol’s bottom lip. Soonyoung wants to suck it off but sips on his coffee instead. “It is,” he says. It's not like he can tell Seungheol he likened the fried egg to a dominatrix—it's as much as he can muster for a powerful metaphor but it's not something anyone can appreciate. “How did you get the potatoes like that?”

“I boiled them, right?” Seungcheol answers. “You put a bit of vinegar so they don't get all mushy but break down enough on the outside that there's an uneven surface. That texture makes it more crispy. And boiling ensures that it's cooked all the way through.” Sexy.

“So… You just learned all that stuff from cooking school?”

“Never been,” Seungcheol admits with a sheepish smile. “I staged in a lot of restaurants after college. I didn't wanna do any of the med school shit, so I was living in an attic somewhere with my then girlfriend… and Kwannie when he came along.”

“When was your big break?”

“Maybe a year after Kwannie was born? I was… twenty-six.” Fuck. He's a lot older than Soonyoung thought. Not to mention the type to get girls pregnant without marrying them. Soonyoung’s suddenly praying for his virgin soul. “Then I got my own restaurant a little after Channie was born.”

“Spoiled kids,” Soonyoung muses. “If you were my dad, I’d be fucking obese.”

Seungcheol laughs then sobers up, face twisting before his cup of coffee. “I leave them alone too much,” he says. “None of their moms are around, you know?”

“Do you want them around?” Soonyoung asks. In a better world, the breakfast would taste sour in his mouth, but it still tastes good, and he shovels more into his mouth while he waits for Seungcheol to stop sighing and get his shit together.

“No? Fuck them.”

“Fuck them?”

“Fuck. Them. Well, Kwannie’s mom. Fuck her. Left me with him because apparently it’s my fault,” Seungcheol grouses.

“Did you use a condom?”

“…No.”

“It’s totally your fault,” Soonyoung says. He can feel his entire face going blank. “Holy shit, you’re a fucking idiot.”

Seungcheol looks at his cup and at Soonyoung’s, which was about half-full, and asks, “Do you want whiskey with that?”

With a grin, Soonyoung answers, “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Perfect,” Seungcheol sighs. He opens one of the cupboards hanging overhead and brings out a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black, splashing a little bit in his cup of coffee then in Soonyoung's before pouring more into his again. After a long sip and a satisfied sigh, he goes, “Okay, I sound like a broken record, but… my son…”

“Kwannie?”

“Do you really trust that Mingyu guy?”

Soonyoung has no idea if he should laugh or roll his eyes at the sight of Seungcheol eating hash like a kicked puppy. “He's kinda,” he says slowly, “short a few eggs in the basket?”

“Short a few eggs in the basket,” Seungcheol echoes weakly.

“Yeah. As far as I know.”

“What kinda fucking phrase,” Seungcheol says with a loud laugh. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-five,” Soonyoung answers before chugging his lukewarm spiked coffee down so he doesn't have to see Seungcheol's reaction. (Unfortunately, he hears it, but he feels light enough in the head to not notice it much.) He clears his throat. “Anyway, Seungkwan… Mingyu's kind of a dumbass, but he adores Seungkwan. You want that, don't you?” He wants to reach across the counter to pinch Seungcheol's cheek, maybe even brush his hair up, kiss him a little. “Kwannie's a good kid and he deserves that kind of attention.”

“Yeah…” Seungcheol runs a frantic hand through his hair, tugging at the ends slightly before dragging his hand down his face. “I love my kid, though he's… something. I fucking hate it when he sneaks out. He doesn't have to.”

Well… Kwannie should be here to hear it. “You ever talked to him about it? He's probably not getting that message from you,” Soonyoung muses. The doorbell rings then gives way to Seungkwan cursing at Mingyu, a click of the lock, then Seungkwan and Mingyu stumbling into the living room. It's probably Soonyoung's cue to leave, and he gets down from the stool after one last big bite of the hash that was down to little bits and pieces scattered all over the plate. Seungcheol stops him, but Soonyoung shakes his head and goes back to his own place quietly, the heat in his face threatening to burn off his ears.

 

 

 

“I slept with Mingyu,” Seungkwan admits quietly. Soonyoung’s showered and in a sweater and joggers, socked feet tucked underneath him on the couch. He hands over a tortilla chip with some guacamole at the end to Seungkwan, who pops the whole thing in his mouth and chews quietly, a dark expression on his face.

“I know,” Soonyoung says lightly.

“You do?”

“I know a post-orgasmic glow better than anyone,” Soonyoung declares and Seungkwan hits him for it with a throw pillow. Soonyoung didn't think he'd be back inside Seungcheol's apartment so soon—that evening, in fact, because Seungkwan's grounded while Seungcheol takes his wonderful obedient children to the last showing of _Finding Dory_ or some shit like that and pizza after. “Was he your first?”

“Yeah…”

“Oh, sweet, congrats. Did you get it up your ass or did he?”

Seungkwan turns red at that, his face contorted as he tries to focus on what’s going on in the TV instead. “I… He said my ass was better for the job—Hey, check out Dad’s wedding video.”

Wedding video? Just earlier they were laughing about a baby Chan tripping over a remote-controlled car Seungkwan set in front of his feet while he practised his walk. The video started shaking because Seungcheol was laughing so hard before he set it down to comfort Chan and to admonish Seungkwan. Hansol was at the side, building a Lego tower, but he stops to look at Chan with knitted brows. “Wedding video?” Soonyoung asks, feels his legs turn to jelly when the video shifts into a scene at a church, and holy fuck.

“Yeah, Hansol and Chan’s mom. I was the cutest fucking flower boy,” Seungkwan preens. “Look, that’s me walking down the aisle.”

“Your cheeks are hard to miss,” Soonyoung grouses. He shoves a chip into his mouth, grimacing when he realises he forgot to scoop up some guacamole. Seungcheol comes in, younger with dyed and styled hair, narrower in his suit than now, and Soonyoung feels his throat close and turn sticky. “So where is she now?”

“Uhm…” Seungkwan shies a little bit away from Soonyoung and sits up. “Dad didn’t tell you?”

Soonyoung’s eyebrows knit together, making himself sit up as well and set the bowl of chips and guac on the coffee table. He needs a drink, maybe. In the silence and comfort of his own apartment, where the fucking wedding piano song isn’t playing in the background. He reaches blindly for the remote and pauses the video. “Why would he?”

“You guys were looking cosy this morning,” Seungkwan says. “So you guys didn’t talk about Mom?”

Mom. Okay. _Mom_. “Okay, he and I have talked maybe a total of five times since I moved in,” Soonyoung says. Fucking _mom_. “The first was the day after. Gave me an entire roast chicken.” Soonyoung nearly begged him to stay and let him show just how much he appreciates the gesture. “The second one was when he asked me if I could pick up your laundry because none of you would be home before dark? Yeah, and he picked them up from my place the next morning.”

“Was the third one when he got drunk at home?”

“How’d you know?”

“He made cacio e pepe”—whatever that is, but it was probably that fancy-ass mac ‘n’ cheese the one time Seungcheol showed up shirtless—“and was like, ‘This is so fucking good; I have to show Soonyoung’.”

“So why was he drinking?” Soonyoung asks. His eyebrow raises when Seungkwan holds his pinky out in front of him. “What?”

“You can’t tell Dad I told you,” Seungkwan says. “Swear on your good tequila.”

“How bad is it that I have to swear on the only good thing in my life?” Soonyoung demands, this close to shouting.

“Do you swear on it or not?”

“I fucking swear!” Soonyoung links his pinky with Seungkwan’s then tries not to vomit out what he just ate because it was some bomb guac. (Seungkwan learned it from Seungcheol, obviously.) “So what?”

“It’s… He’s always like that,” Seungkwan says slowly. “Not in the abusive kinda way, you know? It’s just… It’s always on her death anniversary. She died when I was a kid.”

“From what?”

“Car accident.”

“Shit,” Soonyoung breathes. “I’m so sorry.” Sorry to Seungcheol, especially. Something about widows keeps his thirst at bay. Maybe it’s the perpetual sadness hanging overhead. “So where are the photos of her?”

“His room,” Seungkwan says. “We all have pictures of her in our rooms.”

“Cute.”

“Dad didn’t want them in the living room. Kinda turns away the guys…”

“Well, yeah,” Soonyoung concedes, “who’d wanna be the homewrecker?” He doesn’t want to fixate on Seungkwan implying that Seungcheol has guys over; it’ll make him feel a bit used and miserable.

Seungkwan sighs then smiles conspiratorially. “The thing is that the guys who make it to his room know the story already. It’s like… a trust thing, you know? If he likes you enough, he’ll tell you about mom. Like a code word for sex.”

Of all things. What the fuck. Though Soonyoung thinks the way his stomach dropped and his face heated up means he finds it endearing, which is incredibly fucked. “So how many guys has it been?”

“Three?”

“Three.”

“Yeah. But the last one was so long ago.”

“He said he was gonna make me sleep in his room—”

“Four, then,” Seungkwan says.

“—but he'll sleep in your room,” Soonyoung finishes.

Seungkwan’s eyebrows knit together, and he searches Soonyoung's face for something Soonyoung can't quite tell yet. “Oh,” he says finally, “that’s fucking weird.”

“Right?” Soonyoung grumbles. “Your dad is weird.”

“Tell me about it,” Seungkwan grouses right back. “Why’d he even ground me? I asked for permission last night.”

Seungkwan’s also an idiot. It’s an entire family of idiots plus the dumb dog Mingyu Kim. “You thought staying the night at Mingyu's place was wise? Seungcheol could’ve murdered him,” Soonyoung says then mimics the face Seungkwan makes while Seungkwan sticks his tongue out at him. “I’m serious. Your dad is more high-strung and conservative than he wants to think he is. You’re like the daughter he probably always wanted.”

“Because I’m gay?” Seungkwan asks with a wrinkle of his nose.

“No, princess,” Soonyoung deadpans with a roll of his eyes. “He’s just more overprotective with you. You remind him of when he was younger.”

“Gross,” Seungkwan grouses. “Did he tell you that?”

“Appreciate your father, Seungkwan Choi,” Soonyoung says. Seungkwan rolls his eyes and crosses his arms but leans into Soonyoung, who shifts the TV back to its regularly scheduled programming, trying to erase the photo of a groomed and dimpled Seungcheol waiting for his bride. “So how was it?”

“What was?”

“Your first time.”

Seungkwan curls up laughing, entire body trembling from amusement. “Oh, fuck, it hurt,” he wheezes out. “I felt like shitting after.” Soonyoung makes a face at that and attempts to push Seungkwan away, but Seungkwan curls his fingers into Soonyoung’s sweater. “I love Mingyu; he’s so sweet. Kept saying sorry, gave me a massage—”

“Boyfriend of the year, is he?” Soonyoung comments. “Cute.”

“Kinda worth Dad grounding me,” Seungkwan says, and though he’s hidden, swallowed up by his own clothes, Soonyoung could hear the soft smile in his voice before it gives way to a huge yawn. “I’m so tired, though, and it hurts to sit down.”

“Advil,” Soonyoung advises. After a while, on some _Barefoot Contessa_ reruns from when Ina Garten was still in her fifties, Seungkwan falls asleep, snoring softly on Soonyoung’s shoulder. Soonyoung helps him shift around so that his head is pillowed by Soonyoung’s lap, and it’s like that when Seungcheol opens the door with Chan riding on his back, Hansol trailing behind with music coming out of his headphones even though they’re slung around his neck.

It’s so fucking cute, Soonyoung wants to vomit.

Instead, he keeps his cool and manages a whispered “Hey” that Seungcheol returns with a smile as he puts down a sleepy Chan.

“How was the movie?” Soonyoung asks.

Seungcheol shrugs and admits, “I have no idea. I fell asleep halfway.”

“Tired?”

“Yeah. I had three hours of sleep, maybe.”

“You should sleep,” Soonyoung tells him as he tries to get Seungkwan off his lap. “I should sleep, too.” He feels an invitation to stay coming along, but Seungkwan finally loosens up enough for him to get up before Seungcheol could extend the invitation. “‘Night.” He walks back to his room and hurries to his bed, collapsing on it to dream of a groomed and dimpled Seungcheol waiting for him.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Parent-Teacher Night was inevitable after all. Soonyoung cooks up some bullshit about his students, about how they’re all wonderful children (they’re not) and how he's glad a night like this exists to help him communicate with their parents better to bring out the maximum potential in his students (he’s not). At the end of it, he’s on his desk with a bottle of tequila and a shot glass, shrugging off the smartest-looking jacket he owns.

“Can I have some?”

“Fuck off, Jeonghan,” Soonyoung grouses. When Seungcheol's entire body materialises from the doorframe, Soonyoung feels like setting himself on fire, letting out a “What the fuck”.

“This is Chan and Hansol's middle school, too. I forgot about Parent-Teacher Night,” Seungcheol explains.

“You were gonna make me dinner tonight,” Soonyoung reminds him. “I forgot, too.” More like he didn't want to go, but that makes him look bad.

Seungcheol shrugs and grins. “Priorities,” he says. “Tell you what, I'll make you dinner tonight, if you still want it.”

What can Soonyoung say? He’s a slut. “Fine, you can have a shot,” he concedes. Seungcheol pulls up one of the desks to sit closer to him, and it's kinda funny how his breadth is almost too much for the chair; he fits but is bulky, fills up the entire chair because it was made for twelve-year olds who haven't grown into suits the way Seungcheol distractingly has. He fills up the shot glass and hands it to him, keeping the bottle poised near his mouth after. “Cheers?”

“Cheers.”

Seungcheol makes a face after he downs his shot, making Soonyoung look at him with a raised brow as he drinks from his bottle. “Fuck, that's nasty,” he groans.

“Fuck you, this is my best tequila,” Soonyoung grumbles. “Where are your sons?”

“In the car.”

“Best dad ever,” Soonyoung says with a snort. “Maybe we shouldn’t have dinner tonight…”

“Chan's teacher told me that he tried to slit someone's throat with a butter knife. Hansol ‘isn't applying himself’ or some bullshit like that,” Seungcheol admits. Soonyoung gestures for the shot glass and fills it right back up. “I love my kids, but what the fuck. Plus, Channie’s teacher asked me if there were any problems at home, if Chan has a nurturing figure in his life.”

“Fuck that,” Soonyoung says with a nod. Seungcheol picks up his glass and clinks it with the lip of Soonyoung’s bottle.

“Right on,” Seungcheol agrees. “Is it bad I don't see a problem with them? Chan had to hold me back so I don’t ask that bitch why she’s still a virgin at forty.” Jesus. Ellen should’ve stopped with her ‘oversharing is caring’ thing before it affected anyone outside the faculty. Soonyoung remembers the last time she grilled him to open up about his daddy issues, how she didn’t even give him a damn tissue when he started sobbing because he _just wasn’t good enough for him_.

“Your kids are good kids,” Soonyoung says finally, after a while of staring at Seungcheol chew on his bottom lip in worry.

“I know,” Seungcheol sighs. “They’re just…”

“Hard to get,” Soonyoung fills in. “I like them, and that says a lot. I fucking hate kids.”

“You’re in a middle school,” Seungcheol tells him with a laugh. “The parents are gonna come for your ass.”

“I’ll give them a drink,” Soonyoung deadpans. Seungcheol laughs and gets up, smoothing down his tie. Soonyoung wants to reach for it and yank him closer. “You’re going home?”

“Yeah… Kinda sad to get smashed in a middle school while I leave my kids locked in my car, right?” Seungcheol says with a laugh. Soonyoung shrugs at that. It could be worse… and has been, if Soonyoung’s honest. (Waking up in the principal’s office after he fell asleep mid-masturbation last Parent-Teacher Night was not a high point of his life. At least he got to leave without anyone but the school janitor noticing.) “Do you need a ride?”

“I can drive, since you’re probably smashed, old man,” Soonyoung teases.

“I’ve been driving drunk when you were just a baby,” Seungcheol retorts. “Let me take you home. I think I owe you more than just dinner.”

“Like what?” Like his body? His soul? Seungkwan’s hand in marriage?

“A ride,” Seungcheol answers. On his thighs? “Come on, I’ll tuck the kids in bed then cook you a late dinner.” Holy fucking shit. Seungcheol could just fuck him on his desk right now, too, and that would be okay. He doesn’t even have to call. “What do you say?”

Soonyoung bursts out laughing and gushes, “Oh my god, that’s… really fucking great. I’d love that a lot.” He gets up too and shrugs his jacket back on, follows Seungcheol out to the front of the school where he can see Chan and Hansol busy with their phones inside the car that’s been running for maybe a good half hour or so. “Where’s Seungkwan?”

“Out with Mingyu, again,” Seungcheol says, all growl that initially came with the mention of Mingyu’s name gone. “What can I say? He came to pick him up this time.”

They’re probably fucking like bunnies. Soonyoung smiles inwardly and nods, taking the seat in the back across from Chan, who has earphones on, probably to drown out the Hall & Oates Seungcheol’s playing in the car stereo. Hansol’s the same, big black headphones swallowing his ears whole. “I love this song,” Soonyoung offers. It’s in a playlist in his phone called ‘throwback classics’, though.

“I love _you_ ,” Seungcheol counters. “ _Your kiss, your kiss is on my list_.” If Seungcheol’s flirting, he could do a lot better than a song by a man with a handlebar moustache. The rest of the car ride goes similarly, Hall  & Oates and Bread, a little ABBA that feels so fucking charming, especially when it blends with Seungcheol’s soft singing voice. If they were in a living room with Seungcheol dancing stoically to it, Soonyoung would be in love.

For now, he’s a little fucked.

 

 

 

 

At Seungcheol’s apartment, Seungcheol wastes no time ushering Chan and Hansol to their room then rolls up his sleeves and ties an apron around his waist. He checks his obscenely large refrigerator and pulls out a block of brown paper, unfolding it on the space behind the kitchen counter where his chopping board and knife block are.

“I remember I got duck breasts,” Seungcheol says. “Is that okay?”

“Never had,” Soonyoung says with a shrug while Seungcheol takes a knife and lightly traces crisscross patterns on the glistening, white skin.

“I’ll make it good,” Seungcheol promises. He sprinkles salt and black pepper on it from a height. The meat is a dark, deep pink. The salt crunches between Seungcheol’s fingertips.

“Can I help with anything?” Soonyoung offers.

“It’s fine,” Seungcheol brushes him off. “What kinda fucking asshole gives you a gift and makes you work for it, right? Do you want a drink? There’s a good wine I got that pairs well with this… It’s in the wine chiller, a Zinfandel from 2012 on the top shelf.”

“You have a wine chiller” is the only thing Soonyoung processed from any of that. He gets up and goes to the small fridge next to the actual fridge and gently picks up each bottle from the top shelf until it’s the one, sets it on the kitchen counter and finds wide-rimmed, wide-bottomed wine glasses to put the wine in (he knows that much, at least). Once he’s settled back in his stool on the kitchen counter, he opens the wine and pours a healthy amount in both glasses, handing one to Seungcheol who takes a sip while he checks on the duck he’s placed in a hot pan, dipping his fingers in to gently press on the meat.

“I’m waiting for the fat to render before I put it in the oven,” Seungcheol explains. “Then I’ll make a simple risotto as a side.” Jesus.

Soonyoung nods. “Do you always talk like you’re in a cooking show?” he asks, making Seungcheol laugh.

“Not when I’m alone,” he answers. “Do you mind it?”

“No.” Soonyoung shakes his head, the way Seungcheol’s arm is moving as he peels an onion and breaks it down into a small dice in less than no time making Soonyoung’s mouth water as much as the smell of duck fat in the air, the way it mingles with the taste of wine in his mouth. It all feels so perfectly constructed for ten in the evening. “Are you sure you don’t want me to do anything?” he asks again.

Seungcheol hums as he pours liquid into a bowl of dried rice he got out of a box. “It’s fine, but…” He takes a quick stride to the fridge, gets a handful of ingredients that he manages to pile up on his arms before setting them all down next to the cutting board and handing Soonyoung a wedge of cheese and a grater. “Can you grate that for me?” After Seungcheol transfers the onions to a plate, he gives the chopping board to Soonyoung, who takes it and nearly drops it because it’s fucking heavy yet Seungcheol Hulk Choi just lifted it with one arm.

The liquid that comes out of the bowl of rice is golden brown. “Your rice is so dirty,” Soonyoung notes, and Seungcheol laughs again.

“It’s chicken stock,” Seungcheol tells him. “‘Cause the thing with toasting the rice before you cook it makes it taste nutty, but it doesn’t get as creamy, so you put the starch in the stock then toast the rice. Win-win. Back when I was working as a line cook in this restaurant, I had this coworker who told me that’s how he does it at home and it just works, you know? There’s a huge difference.”

Soonyoung nods but tries not to look up too much at Seungcheol, who puts the washed rice into a pan with melted butter. When Seungcheol has his back turned, Soonyoung’s mouth curls into a wide smile, the wine going up to the tips of Soonyoung’s ears in a high flush. He’s always wanted to go home to a beautiful husband and a hot dinner.All that’s needed is a low and slow CD and lit candles later.

Once the rice is toasted, Seungcheol adds the onions and sweats them down till they’re translucent before hitting the pan with a splash of white wine. He checks the duck, two fingers pressed on the meat while he checks the underside before flipping and putting it, pan and all, in the hot oven. As a last step, he pours the starchy stock into the rice, some threads of saffron, and salt.

“We just have to wait now,” Seungcheol says. Soonyoung’s just finished grating the cheese as well, and it’s sitting on the chopping board as a mound of snow. Seungcheol takes the stool next to him, wine in hand. He’s so warm from the heat of the stove, radiating it from his shoulders and arms. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Soonyoung chokes out. “You didn’t have to go all out for a midnight snack…”

Seungcheol covers his sheepish smile with his palm then runs a hand through his hair. “I wanted to impress you,” he says. “Besides, I thought we were gonna have the whole night, not spend it in middle school.” Soonyoung snorts at that and tries his best not to lean on Seungcheol’s shoulder. He takes a sip instead and tries to think of its flavour profile or whatever. “Thanks for indulging me.”

“It’s free food,” Soonyoung teases, “so what can I say?”

“‘Yes, Seungcheol, I’d love to go out with you’?” Seungcheol supplies. Soonyoung’s mind goes blank and after a few moments of staring at Seungcheol, his smile starts to falter. “At least tell me it’s working.”

“I’m sorry, after Zinfandel, I just didn’t understand anything…” Soonyoung bursts out into laughter and goes, “Holy shit, do you seriously like me? I’ve been, like, seriously thirsting after you.”

“I…”

“I’m not too young for you?”

“I’m not too old for you?”

“You can marry me right here, right now, Seungcheol Choi.”

They both burst into laugher. Seungcheol buries his head into his arms until the only things Soonyoung can see are the burning tips of his ears. With newly found comfort, Soonyoung reaches for it, playing with the shell gently between his fingers.

“You’re blushing,” Soonyoung teases.

“Fuck,” Seungcheol groans from his position. It comes out muffled. Soonyoung laughs and starts carding his fingers through Seungcheol’s hair. Eventually, Seungcheol lifts his head to look at Soonyoung. “You’re right—I didn’t need a babysitter. I needed an excuse to invite you to dinner.”

“Was that it?”

“Yeah, but I needed to know if you’re okay with my kids. Aside from Kwannie, I mean.”

“Kwannie’s a brat.”

“I know.”

“He’s my favourite brat.”

Seungcheol grins. “What a coincidence; me, too.”

“What kind of dad plays favourites, huh?”

“I don’t,” Seungcheol protests. “Channie’s my favourite psychopath. Hansol… reminds me a lot of my wife. She died when Chan was really young.”

That instantly sobers Soonyoung up. Whoops, there it is. “Do you miss her?” he asks quietly. Seungcheol looks so blissed out about the hand Soonyoung has placed on his head, a soft and gentle smile on his face.

“Every day,” Seungcheol answers.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Soonyoung admits. “I really like you, but—”

“You’re not a substitute,” Seungcheol says. “I don’t want you to be.”

“Good,” Soonyoung breathes. He takes a sip of wine and a deep breath, lets his shoulders loosen up. He strokes Seungcheol’s hair again, the side of his cheek. “Do I have time to kiss you or is the food gonna burn?”

“We have plenty of time.”

“Good,” Soonyoung says again then ducks down his head to meet Seungcheol’s, which Seungcheol also lifts up to meet Soonyoung’s. Their lips meet, gently, not quite slotting together perfectly until Soonyoung shifts and it just feels superlative, the taste of wine sweeter on Seungcheol’s mouth, his tongue.

Soonyoung pulls back just as his fingers lower to cradle the back of Seungcheol’s neck, thumb stroking the side.

“Can you stir the risotto for me?” Seungcheol asks. 

“Why?”

“I can’t move.”

“Cute.” It’s too cute, honestly. Soonyoung wants to get run over. He steals another kiss from Seungcheol before reluctantly getting up to stir the risotto, which had turned a beautiful sunshine yellow, with a wooden spoon. “It’s kinda runny,” he says.

“Yeah, it needs a few more minutes. How about the duck?”

“The skin looks crispy.”

“Okay, can you take it out?”

“It might take _me_ out,” Soonyoung grouses. Seungcheol laughs and goes to the oven with a kitchen mitt. He pulls the pan out of the oven, the fat sizzling around the duck, and Soonyoung backs away. After placing the duck on another cutting board, Seungcheol covers it with foil then starts talking about resting and temperature gradients before Soonyoung shuts him up with another kiss, this time much more forcefully, trapping Seungcheol’s face between his hands.

Soonyoung feels Seungcheol’s arms wrap around his torso, warm and firm and solid, and he can feel himself melting into it. Even the way Seungcheol’s stubble scratches at his chin is so good, how the tips of their noses bump awkwardly.

Eventually Seungcheol pulls away to put the finishing touches on the risotto—cold butter sliced into thin squares that melt right away in the risotto’s heat, the grated cheese, a bowl of whipped cream—

“What the fuck?” Soonyoung lets out.

“It makes it light, okay,” Seungcheol grumbles. The final risotto went from sunshine yellow to pastel and flowing onto the plate that Seungcheol spoons it into. He then slices the duck breast into generous slices, layering them on top of the risotto in a fan. It’s so fucking beautiful, Soonyoung thinks, then thinks he got a boner from Seungcheol spooning duck fat over the top. Seungcheol carries the finished plate to the counter, where Soonyoung seats himself again, then makes his own plate and stays standing in front of Soonyoung, a laugh tugging on the corners of his mouth as he waits for Soonyoung to take a bite.

When he does, with a bit of everything—tender, rich duck, the sweet yet incredibly savoury risotto that was so light it gave him cognitive dissonance—he lets out a moan and a “Holy fucking shit”. “This is so good,” Soonyoung groans.

“Yeah?”

“Is this the kind of stuff you have in your restaurant?”

“Somewhat… I specialise in brasserie food there… Like, the kind of uptight French food that’s not overly avant-garde—”

Soonyoung shushes him. “Too many foreign words,” he says. He shoves food into his mouth as gracefully as he could, as graceful as a big mouthful could muster. Seungcheol bursts out laughing again. “The most I’ve cooked was that damn steak.”

“Mm.” Seungcheol nods. “I’ll teach you, then.”

“Or just cook for me until I get obese and the doctor tells me to stop,” Soonyoung counters. Seungcheol pouts, and right then Soonyoung can just feel how much of putty he is in Seungcheol’s hands. “I’ll learn, I promise. I won’t let your children starve because I’m a dumbass in the kitchen.”

“Kwannie can cook, don’t worry,” Seungcheol says. “I just wanted you to cook for me sometime.”

“Didn’t know you like disappointment for dinner.” With the wine, the whole thing just seems to come together as a cohesive whole, and before Soonyoung realised, he was mopping up the juices that have gathered on his plate with the last bite of meat, head buzzing slightly from too many wine refills.

“You done with that?” Seungcheol asks, referring to Soonyoung’s glaringly empty plate.

“Leave it,” Soonyoung says. Seungcheol looks at him with a raised brow but shrugs. “Come here, big guy.”

“Big guy?”

“At least play along.” Seungcheol obeys, walking around the counter until Soonyoung reaches for the necktie and pulls him in, right between his legs. He hooks his ankles on Seungcheol’s back, dances his fingers on Seungcheol’s shoulders. “I’ll do the dishes… or at least put them in the dishwasher.” Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “You… go take a shower, but take your time,” Soonyoung suggests, voice dropping to a murmur, making Seungcheol grin.

“Are you joining me?”

“It’s rude if I don’t,” Soonyoung replies, with a grin to match Seungcheol’s. Seungcheol puts his hands on Soonyoung’s thighs and eases himself out of Soonyoung’s hold.

“Meet you there,” he says, then dashes off to his bedroom while Soonyoung cleans up, emptying the dishes into the trash can and putting everything in the dishwasher, the chopping board and knives in the sink.

The wine Soonyoung brings with him to Seungcheol’s room, where a separate door (oh sweet fucking Jesus, thank god, it’s an en suite bathroom, he could cry) to the bathroom lies, and he could hear the water from the shower, Seungcheol singing softly. He sets the wine down on the bedside table and sees candles, assorted scented ones from the Pottery Barn that he lights up before turning off the lights in the main bedroom and joining Seungcheol in the shower.

It feels like a porn intro how Soonyoung strips slowly, except for the time it took for him to fold the clothes and place them on top of the covered toilet, and kisses Seungcheol under the running hot water. He smells strongly of his shampoo, the scent of it tickling Soonyoung’s nose.

“Let me,” Soonyoung says as he plucks the soap from Seungcheol’s hand. He works it up into a lather that he places in slow, wide circles along Seungcheol’s chest, on his shoulders, down his arms. He presses himself closer to Seungcheol to work soap into the broad expanse of Seungcheol's back, feeling the taut muscle there, and smiling at the softness of his belly pressing against his.

“What are you doing?” Seungcheol asks, amused, voice low and soft in Soonyoung’s ear. (If Soonyoung’s honest, he doesn’t know. He just knows it feels right when he does it, insinuate himself on every surface of Seungcheol’s body.)

“Making sure you’re clean,” Soonyoung says with a laugh. The soap washes away and flows into the drain. Seungcheol turns off the water, his mouth falling open in surprise when Soonyoung backs him up into the wall, pinching at the soft flesh of Seungcheol’s stomach with glee.

“Food tasting,” Seungcheol explains in an exhale with a shy smile. Soonyoung kisses the smile away, traces along the sharpness of Seungcheol’s jaw. He slowly trails down Seungcheol’s neck, sucks on the skin above his collarbone, inhales the sweet, clean scent of Seungcheol’s soap from his tummy. With quick fingers, he strokes Seungcheol off to hardness, and Seungcheol’s entire body is just thrumming beneath his lips.

By the time Soonyoung gets there, he’s down on his knees, grateful for the way the hot water warmed up the tiles. He can hear how Seungcheol’s breathing has deepened into soft pants by then, can feel how Seungcheol’s tensed up where his fingernails graze. “Relax,” Soonyoung says, though he thinks it must be hard for Seungcheol to relax when he’s breathing down on his dick.

“It’s… It’s been a while.”

“I’ll be gentle,” Soonyoung promises. Seungcheol nods, and that’s when Soonyoung takes the head of Seungcheol’s cock into his mouth, lazily flicking his tongue into the slit until Seungcheol’s sighs turn into quick hitches of breath. He takes him in deeper, lets his teeth graze slightly on the skin.

Seungcheol’s head falls against the wall. One hand rests on Soonyoung’s head, fingers digging into the scalp, though his nails are cut until all the white edges are gone, so the pressure on Soonyoung’s scalp is gentle, more calming than teasing. The other hand reaches for the hand Soonyoung’s placed palm flat on the wall and laces their fingers together. “Fuck,” he sighs.

“Good?”

“I should’ve asked you out sooner,” Seungcheol says with a laugh. The hand on Soonyoung’s head has switched from tugging at Soonyoung’s hair to smoothing it down. “Shit.”

(Soonyoung hates swallowing; it’s like sucking one’s phlegm back after a hacking cough.) Seungcheol comes down Soonyoung’s throat, and Soonyoung lets go of his dick, come trailing on his lips that he licks away. He stands himself right back up, faces him with a grin, but Seungcheol just blinks back at him, the tops of his cheeks turning red again.

“Uhm,” Seungcheol starts while worrying his bottom lip, “that was unexpected…”

“It’s fine. Didn’t wanna make a mess anyway.”

Seungcheol laughs at that, loops his arms around Soonyoung’s neck to pull him closer. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “I really appreciate it.”

“What the hell,” Soonyoung grumbles. “You’re so formal. Just fuck me and call it even.”

“No stuff though,” Seungcheol says.

“That long?” Soonyoung can feel a pout coming along before the idea strikes him. “Wait for me on the bed?”

“You’re gonna get stuff?”

“I think the store’s still open.” The store of Seungkwan’s study desk, that is. Soonyoung dashes out, grabbing his clothes to cover his dick while he crosses the hallway to Seungkwan’s room. Indeed, there are condoms in his study desk—including XXL ones, which makes him wonder a lot about Mingyu Kim—and lube on the bedside table, only good for one round. He runs back to Seungcheol’s room, discards his clothes by the door, and joins Seungcheol on the (extremely nice and big and soft) bed, victorious with his stolen lube and condoms.

Holy shit, Seungcheol is gorgeous in candlelight.

“Where’d you get those?” he asks as he inspects it.

“My place,” Soonyoung lies. “So where were we?”

“Wait,” Seungcheol stops him, doubled up from laughter, “you fucking streaked next door?”

“It was urgent,” Soonyoung deadpans. “Come on, Seungcheol, make it worth my while.” He frowns while digging himself further into the bed while Seungcheol laughs and positions himself above him.

“Like this?”

“Oh, _God_ ,” Soonyoung groans, “ _yes_.” He tangles his limbs around Seungcheol, pressing him flush between his legs. Seungcheol laughs against his mouth, kissing him languidly until Soonyoung’s squirming, digging his heels into Seungcheol’s back so he _gets_ it. That’s when Seungcheol reaches for the lube, coating his fingers liberally with it.

It’s so hurried, how he preps Soonyoung, and cramped from the position, and Soonyoung feels bad about the rush, the impatience, but he thinks they have another night to go slow and he can focus on how beautifully sculpted Seungcheol looks up close with that glow from within that comes from candlelight then. Right now they feel like a bunch of teenage fucks, except Seungcheol is way too firm and solid and there are slight crow’s feet around his eyes and Soonyoung’s mind goes slightly haywire thinking of Seungcheol having back pains before the realisation that Seungcheol has two fingers in him grounds him.

“That’s good enough,” Soonyoung gasps.

Seungcheol’s brows furrow together. “Are you sure?”

“You’re not gonna make some damn crack about people my age needing instant gratification, right?”

“Like what? Kids these days don’t get the value of a good fingering?”

Soonyoung bursts out laughing. The gasp he makes when Seungcheol slips a third finger inside him turns it into wheezing, his stomach twisting into a tight knot. “Are you trying to prove me wrong?”

“Maybe,” Seungcheol replies. “I love getting fingered.”

“Noted.”

“Are you good?”

“I’ve been good since last year,” Soonyoung says, to which Seungcheol rolls his eyes. He slips his fingers out of Soonyoung and tries to free himself from Soonyoung’s hold to put on a condom. Soonyoung relents eventually, propping himself up on the bed as he watches Seungcheol stroke himself first before putting on the condom then the lube until the surface is shiny and slick with it. Shit, he really looks so good. His eyelashes are long enough to cast shadows over his cheekbones. He leans over Soonyoung’s entire body again, aligning himself with Soonyoung’s entrance, and Soonyoung just can’t stop staring, so he pulls Seungcheol down to kiss him while Seungcheol inches slowly inside of him.

When Seungcheol’s all the way in, he stops moving altogether. “Are you okay?” he asks first. There’s a bit of a burn, but it’s what Soonyoung likes. Soonyoung nods, and Seungcheol starts moving, pulling out and pushing back in gently in small strokes and his face contorts into something wondrous—eyes slipping shut and mouth falling open.

A moan escapes Seungcheol, and he stifles it by biting on his bottom lip, turning it into a whimper. It makes Soonyoung’s stomach drop inside of him and spread warmth throughout his body. He digs into Seungcheol’s back with his heel again, urging him to go faster, deeper.

“Jesus,” Soonyoung groans when Seungcheol starts rolling his hips, the friction of Soonyoung’s dick against Seungcheol’s warm skin too good, making him grind upwards. “Fuck, fuck me.”

Seungcheol goes faster until the sound of them meeting turns into a slap each time. The whimpering is more constant, spilling out of Seungcheol’s mouth without restraint. He still has his eyes screwed shut, so Soonyoung reaches up to soothe his temple, his other hand going down to jerk himself off. Seungcheol’s eyes open at Soonyoung’s touch, his mouth giving way to a wide smile that makes his eyes crinkle.

“Close?” Soonyoung whispers. Precome beads up on the head of his cock. He spreads it around with his thumb, making him whimper.

“Yeah,” Seungcheol whispers back, pupils blown and eyes wide. “Holy shit.” Soonyoung strokes himself faster, practically fucking his fist.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ —” Soonyoung whines, coming in spurts across his belly, smearing some of it on Seungcheol’s stomach as well. Seungcheol licks his lips as he watches, high flush to his cheeks, then starts moving again before Soonyoung’s breathing could even out, fucking Soonyoung hard and fast until he’s coming, too, with a low groan that he tries to stifle in the crook of Soonyoung’s neck. Soonyoung lets out a gasp of a laugh and fixes the way he’s holding Seungcheol, keeping it a tight hug when Seungcheol pulls out and tosses the condom off the side of the bed.

The weight is a lot, but it’s so warm and glorious and Seungcheol hums, pressing kisses into the sensitive skin of Soonyoung’s throat. “That was amazing,” Seungcheol murmurs, which makes Soonyoung’s heart ache slightly. “Thank you.”

 

 

 

It’s a little unsettling to wake up to Seungcheol tracing the backs of his fingers down his face, face entirely blank except for the way his eyes look liquid and warm and bright despite morning not having broken in yet. “Shit,” Seungcheol lets out.

“What?” It takes a while for Soonyoung’s eyes to shift to the darkness, but when he does, he can make out the outline of Seungcheol’s shoulder, the whiteness of the blanket that covers them both. Their feet are tangled below to the point that Soonyoung has no idea where Seungcheol’s end and his begin.

“I think I just realised how much I like you,” Seungcheol admits.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Soonyoung asks gently, trying to keep it at a whisper though all he wants to do is raise his voice. The way his heart is pounding inside of him is too much, threatening to burst out of his ribcage. His face feels too warm, too, and he’s thankful for the darkness to cover it, for the cool air to cool down his cheeks.

“I got excited about waking up to you that I couldn’t sleep.” Holy fucking shit, Soonyoung wants to cry… or press kisses all over Seungcheol’s face.

“Will you sleep if I promise I won’t leave in the middle of the night?” Soonyoung lets out a giggle when Seungcheol tightens his hold on him, the warmth too much to be comfortable, almost burning, but fuck him if he doesn’t feel great about it.

“I’m holding you onto that,” Seungcheol threatens, and that makes Soonyoung feel like crying all over again.

“There’s gonna be breakfast, right?”

“If we wake up in time…”

“Breakfast has no time limit,” Soonyoung argues.

Seungcheol laughs. “You’re right. Are you fine with cereal from a box?” he teases, making Soonyoung laugh.

“Captain Crunch only,” Soonyoung says.

“Good,” Seungcheol yawns, “that’s all I have.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back on Twitter (@_coupsd) and tbh I just talk about fic and the general unpleasantries of uni life. let's talk!! haha


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